


I Pulled Myself Back Together

by prowlstwinkass



Series: Clawing Your Way Up From Rock Bottom [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 18:58:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16666402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlstwinkass/pseuds/prowlstwinkass
Summary: Prowl was breaking. Shards of his spark were spilling through his fingers. Then someone took his hands and taught him how to hold the pieces of his spark, and how to put himself back together.Sequel toCan't You Tell I'm Breaking?





	I Pulled Myself Back Together

Going to a shrink had never been Prowl’s favorite thing, and it never would be. He neither understood nor envied mechs who could make themselves spill their sparks to indifferent psychiatrists with mild smiles and calculating optics.

Eventually, and only because Fortress Maximus said he would have to keep going until progress was made, Prowl choked out a few words about suicidal ideation, how his emotions seemed to swing wildly between anger and apathy, and how honestly exhausted he felt all the time.

When the psychiatrist asked how long he'd been feeling like this, Prowl found that… well, it had always been this way, at least as much as he could remember. Rarely so severe, but what he felt now was only a stronger version of what he'd been feeling all his life in some way or form, whether minor or major.

The psychiatrist said something about this all probably starting in his formative years and diagnosed Prowl with clinical depression, listing off symptoms that were disturbingly accurate to Prowl’s life for the past… however long.

It felt almost like being cheated.

Clinical depression? Meaning that this whole damn mess of his head was physical, was the result of incorrectly crossed wires or some overabundance or lack of some chemical or another. Meaning that he couldn't just get over this eventually, somehow, with time. That he had to take some damn pills forever because if he stopped he'd just fragging relapse.

No and yes, the shrink said, and then spewed something about length of episodes and how they dictated treatment length and some such other thing.

Prowl stopped listening eventually.

He left the psychiatrist’s office with a pack of pills in his hand. Small, innocuous things that he was supposed to take daily and that were supposed to help with his depression.

Heh, depression. It seemed so stupid, that he had depression of all things. What did he even have to be depressed about?

Back in his room on Luna 1, Prowl looked down at the blisterpack of little pills. With a sigh, he popped one out and drank it down with his energon.

 

Prowl’s relationship with the other mechs on the Luna 1 base improved, somehow. Fortress Maximus was naturally kind, and Cerebros naturally outgoing. Red Alert was something of a kindred spirit, if one stretched the definition of that a little bit.

Prowl hadn't had a ‘friend group’ in a very long time. They weren't even really a friend group, just a few mechs pushed together by circumstance, and that somehow made it better because mechs brought together by choice could fall apart once those choices differed, but when brought together by circumstance… Once they all reached their equilibrium, Prowl felt secure in the thought that these mechs, at least, wouldn't leave him. Probably.

For the first time in a long time, Prowl had a life build around routine. He knew where he stood with the mecha he interacted with regularly, and he knew what to do when he did his work, and he knew where he was going and why and how to do it. For the first time in ages, Prowl had ground to stand on.

Prowl worked closely with Fortress Maximus, acting as his field partner while Cerebros and Red Alert took a more homebase-intel-providers role. They had a chore wheel for cleaning up the few inhabited parts of Luna 1’s base, and once a week they all went out for dinner to one of fifteen total options, the venue of the week being selected by whomever got to choose that week.

Dinner for this week was at the Blue Harvest, a fairly new but popular restaurant that had a strict No War Allowed policy. Fortress Maximus and Red Alert had vetted the place thoroughly before putting it on the list of dinner options, and Prowl surprised himself by trusting their opinions.

Things went sideways when they all went out. Prowl had stayed behind for a few minutes to finish up with Fortress’s report (Primus knows the mech himself wouldn't be doing it until tomorrow, and punctuality is everything) and when he arrived at Iacon he quickly realized that he wasn't sure exactly where the Blue Harvest was.

With a vague frame of reference (“You know that paint shop, Ari-something? It's a couple blocks away from there.”) Prowl set out.

Prowl did have a rather respectable sense of direction, but finding a restaurant whose appearance and location he didn't even know was a test of Prowl’s abilities.

It really shouldn't be so hard, Prowl thought as he walked down a street that he barely recognized. Hell, he could ask one of the other pedestrians about him for directions, or a shop worker. Prowl balked at the thought, however. The mere concept of introducing himself into an interaction he didn't know the rules of with a person he didn't know was more disconcerting than it should have been.

It was only when Prowl was standing at the light, waiting to cross the road, when he realized that he was very much alone, unprotected, lost, and surrounded by strangers.

Suddenly the presence of the other pedestrians felt oppressive, the sound of the traffic far too loud. Prowl’s ventilations quickened, and he dug his digits into the wires of the other wrist unconsciously. Distantly, he recognized that he was having a panic attack of some sort. In public no less.

This wasn't supposed to happen! He was taking those damn pills, and weren't they supposed to be fixing things?!

By the time the light turned green, Prowl had worked himself into a quiet, panicked frenzy, his optics wide and his jaw clenched as he stared hard at the ground and took somewhat wheezing breaths. The crowd about him began to move forward across the road, and Prowl followed helplessly, very aware that until recently he'd been a wanted mech and what if someone recognized him and attacked him? They had a rather strict rule about bringing weapons to dinner nights, so Prowl didn't have anything to defend himself with.

Prowl ducked his head and pulled up his shoulders, feeling his doorwings twitch in that unmanageable tic that occurred when he was feeling particularly anxious.

Scratching his wrist, Prowl made his way over to the nearest wall and all but tried to merge with it. He was far too exposed here, everyone was looking at him, watching him fall apart in public. He was so very lost, and maybe this had been the point all along? Maybe Fortress and Red and Cerebros had finally decided they wanted a nice dinner without Prowl screwing it up by being rude and unsociable and–

“Prowl! There you are!”

Prowl jolted and looked up, limbs vibrating with tension for a moment before relaxing somewhat. Fortress Maximus wove his way down the sidewalk to Prowl’s side, expression anxious and servo outstretched.

“I'm sorry, I didn't remember until a few minutes ago that we didn't give you proper directions. Are you okay? Thank Primus you didn't get too lost.”

The larger mech finally reached him, and the weight of his presence was like a balm against the panic and the feeling of other mecha’s judging stares. Prowl sank into it as best he could, leaning heavily against Fortress’s shoulder while pretending that he wasn't doing it.

“Are you okay, Prowl?” Fortress Maximus bent his helm, angling himself until Prowl was hidden from view. One servo came up, hovering at Prowl’s elbow.

Prowl clenched his jaw and shook his head, clawing at his wrist frantically as though the jittery movement and the stinging pain could make this all go away. Tears beaded at the corners of his optics, wrested from his control by the reassurance of Fortress’s presence.

“Come on, don't do that.” Fortress took Prowl’s servos and held them apart. Prowl gripped the blue mech’s servos tightly and tried to make the tension of his grip bring the same effect that his scratching had.

“Prowl,” Fortress Maximus said in a low, soothing voice, “Did you take your medication this morning?”

Prowl began to nod when he realized that… no, no he hadn't. He and Fortress had gone out before his alarm for his medication went off, and by the time it had gone off they were in the middle of reading police reports so Prowl had just shut off the alarm and promptly forgotten about it.

“No, I forgot.” Prowl croaked the words out through a tight throat, but Fortress didn't react to it.

“Well that explains this, then.” Fortress squeezed Prowl’s servos, and Prowl relaxed his grip slightly. “I'm guessing you got lost?”

Prowl nodded. “Didn't know what I was looking for,” he mumbled.

“Why didn't you comm. one of us?”

Embarrassment brought warmth to Prowl’s face. “I didn't think to.” Calling someone for help had never been a thing Prowl was good at, especially when there wasn't many who would help him anyway.

Fortress hummed. “That's understandable.” He looked over his shoulder at something Prowl couldn't see. “Do you want to go to the Blue Harvest or go home?”

“Home,” Prowl replied instantly.

Fortress Maximus nodded easily, and his voice was soothing even as he said, “I'll tell Red and Cerebros to get some food to go. You and me will go ahead, set up the table, yeah?”

“Sure.”

 

That had been a terrible evening followed by a fairly alright dinner. The incident faded in Prowl’s memory, though he took extra care to take his medication as regularly as he could.

This evening it was rather quiet (not that any of them had a tendency to be loud, anyway), and the day had been uneventful. Prowl had managed to steal the most comfortable corner of the couch, much to Red Alert’s obvious irritation when Prowl turned him away with a smug smirk and forced him to sit on the other end of the couch.

Cerebros sat back from the telescreen, watching it carefully until the thing finally came to life, the beginning credits of some movie beginning to play. Making a sound of satisfaction, the smallest of them took a seat in the armchair.

“What's this one?” Fortress Maximus asked as he stepped inside the room, a thermos of hot-something in his hand.

“A popular Milarian movie,” Cerebros replied. “Something of a science-fiction thriller, I think.”

Prowl scoffed, pulling his legs up onto the couch. “Does it involve hostile alien invaders?”

“More than likely.”

Fortress stepped over to the couch and unceremoniously shoved Prowl’s legs off the middle cushions, taking a seat in the vacated space. Prowl cast the larger mech a small glare, turning a harder glare on Red Alert upon catching the mech’s smugly amused expression from across Fortress’s frame.

By the time the movie had gotten into its stride, Prowl had forgotten about the short conflict. Leaning into the arm of the couch, Prowl tucked his legs between himself and Fortress Maximus, ignoring the raised brow that the other cast him.

“What's to bet he touches it?” Prowl said when one of the characters came upon a foreign egg. The egg began to crack upon being touched and the character– “Primus, yes, just stick your damn hand in a weird alien incubator.” Prowl scoffed loudly.

“Shhh.” Red Alert shot a narrow glare at Prowl as he hissed his request. Prowl ignored it.

“They have phenomenally bad security protocols!” Prowl exclaimed when the hostile alien creature escaped containment. “Did they even have someone watching the security feed?”

Red Alert leaned forward to glare at Prowl over Fortress. “Shut up. I'm trying to watch, and I don't want you commenting on every little thing.”

“Primus knows this thing needs some running commentary.” Prowl huffed and opened his mouth to criticize the characters again.

“Perhaps next time we watch it, Prowl,” Fortress said in that low, mediating tone of his.

Prowl scowled. “Won't be the same, second time around,” he muttered, crossing his arms under his bumper sullenly.

Prowl forgot all about the little conflict within minutes, settling into the couch and steadily inching closer to Fortress’s larger, warmer frame. The base's atmospheric controls were completely functional, but Prowl ran cooler than the others did– they always kept the thermostat at a ridiculously low temperature, in Prowl’s opinion.

Then the movie’s characters made another blunder, and Red Alert said, “None of this would have happened if they'd just followed protocol.”

Prowl sat forward and said fervently, “ _Exactly_!”

“What, sticking your hand in an unknown alien incubator without protection isn't protocol?” Cerebros said wryly.

There was no stopping them after that. Prowl and Cerebros kept up a running commentary over the rest of the movie, while Red Alert and Fortress Maximus occasionally put in their two credits.

Prowl didn't know when he'd realized it –it was more like he'd known it all along and only remembered it then– but he was happy. He felt content, and safe, and happy, sitting here in a cold room in front of a telescreen watching a bad movie with mechs he'd never have associated with socially a few years ago.

Tucking himself boldly under Fortress’s arm, Prowl smiled as the larger mech wrapped that arm about Prowl’s shoulders and pulled him closer.

Things were better than they had been months ago. Better than that night he'd broken down in front of Fortress, had exposed his brokenness and asked for help.

Prowl didn't want to think that his budding affections for the larger mech were because of that. Because Fortress was the first mech to be truly kind to him in a long time, the first mech he'd opened himself to. He didn't want whatever this was to die away once Prowl had learned to stand on his own feet without the aid of the mechs he was now laughing with.

Prowl wanted to- to love Fortress Maximus honestly. He wanted to be Fortress’s partner, his companion, his friend. He wanted to love Fortress because he wanted to and not because his broken spark had latched onto the nearest kind hand.

Perhaps one day there would be time enough to fall in love with Fortress. But Prowl was not prepared to fall in love right now. Right now, he only needed a friend. And he had three of them.

With a faint smile, Prowl tucked himself further into Fortress’s side and fell asleep to the sound of Red Alert and Cerebros arguing good-naturedly about the benefits of blowing up a city to be rid of a contagion.

The rumble of Fortress Maximus’s laugh was the last thing Prowl felt and heard before darkness, comforting and warm, finally embraced him.

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote [Can't You Tell I'm Breaking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524918) I was very depressed and looking for a way to express myself and come to terms with my depression.  
> Now here I am, more than a year later. My family has helped me, I suppose, and the medication I take made a huge difference, but in the end it was me who managed to pull myself out of that.  
> Prowl is a very important character to me; I identify with him a lot, and that's why I always use him to quantify and understand my feelings. So, I wrote this for him. So he could be happy too.  
> Thank you for reading, a comment would be nice but I will always settle for a kudo and helpful criticism and any pointed-out typos.


End file.
